


Marriage (for all the wrong reasons)

by Robert (seeye)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire, Attempt at Humor, Friends to Lovers, Jealous Derek, Kid Fic, M/M, No Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Possessive Derek, Slow Build, Slow To Update
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-06
Updated: 2015-03-02
Packaged: 2018-02-24 09:17:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2576195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seeye/pseuds/Robert
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is happily engaged, and three weeks away from his wedding. His fiancé is called away on business, so he returns home to Beacon Hills to spend some quality time with his old man.</p><p>Then he meets Derek Hale.</p><p>Then he meets Derek Hale's kids.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which Stiles Breaks a Computer

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [DILF](https://archiveofourown.org/works/487739) by [twentysomething](https://archiveofourown.org/users/twentysomething/pseuds/twentysomething). 



> Hello, hello! This is my first ever story on AOO. It's still a work in progress, hence the 'slow to update' tag. I'm going to try to update twice a week, but I can't promise anything. This first chapter is just a taste of what's to come - if you want more, please leave comments/(kind) criticism! It's also currently unbeta'd (if you're interested...) so all grammar and plot mistakes are my own.
> 
> I'm estimating 50k words once all is said and done. There shouldn't be any triggers, but I'll be sure to note anything which does come up in future chapters. Enjoy!

### T-Minus Twenty Two Days

The ring was, Stiles mused, as shiny and beautiful as it had been six months ago, when some idiot – _his_ idiot – had gotten down on one knee and proposed. So what if he was showing it off to everyone and anyone? That was his right. He was getting married. To a real person! And it wasn't even a joke; something that he had asked to be reassured of at the time. Repeatedly. Even the way he was asked had been perfect. During vacation in Europe, just as the sun was –

“One dollar and forty four cents,” came a voice out of nowhere, interrupting Stiles’ happy memory.

“Excuse me?”

“Your change.” The girl standing behind the counter was looking at him wearily. “For the groceries,” she further clarifies when no response comes.

Stiles looks down at the girl’s outstretched hand, holding a bill and some coins. “Oh. Sorry, I’m just a bit –” he vaguely gestures to the engagement ring. His engagement ring. That was his.

The girl rolls her eyes. Stiles levels an unimpressed look at her judginess. Which is a word, damn it.

“Having second thoughts?” She asks. Because she knows _nothing_.

“Oh my God, no! Why would you even think that?” Stiles cries, even more affronted. “I’m happy! I'm getting married in three weeks!” At this point, his flailing arms manage to hit the cashier behind him, causing a quick “Ouch!” and the rest of the customers in line to turn and look at them.

Stiles gives a very heartfelt apology to the poor lady he hit, gives his cashier one last glare, and retreats with his grocery bags in hand. He also forgets to take the change, but he refuses to go back and get it. A man has to have some dignity, after all, and his is worth more than a buck forty four.

* * *

Stiles opens the door to the apartment – _their_ apartment, he has to remind himself – and quietly shuts it behind him. There’s a blue glow coming from the office, so he tiptoes into the room, quiet as a ninja.

Paul is there, sitting at the desk against the wall and staring intently at the computer screen. His tie is loose, and there are multiple take-out coffee cups beside him. He looks overworked, Stiles decides, and implements his plan to relieve him. Continuing his stealthy approach, he slips his hands in front of Paul’s face, covering his eyes.

Unfortunately for Stiles, he chose the exact moment Paul reached for a sip of coffee. When Paul starts in surprise, he manages to fling coffee all over his laptop. Stiles and Paul quickly jump back as the device starts making ominous noises, and the screen begins to flicker. A moment later there’s a spark, and more smoke than should be possible is rising from between the keys of the keyboard. The screen finally goes dead. Stiles didn't even know breaking a laptop like that was possible.

Paul lets out a long suffering sigh. “Stiles.”

“I am so, so sorry.” Stiles cringes. There’s no telling what work Paul lost. “I thought I was being a ninja, and then I chose the wrong time to surprise you and it was going to be all sexy, but now you've probably lost a ton of work and I’m just really, really sorry.”

His fiancé just looks at him for a moment, before giving him a fond half-smile.

“Its fine, babe. I was looking for an excuse to buy a new one, anyways.”

“Really?” Stiles flutters his eyelashes, amazed that he could get away with his idiocy.

“Yes really,” Paul rolls his eyes, not unlike the rude cashier earlier that day. “However –” Stiles cringes in anticipation “– I’ll have to try to recover whatever I can from the hard drive. I know tomorrow’s your day off…” he trails off, looking at Stiles expectantly.

“Yes! Yes, of course. I’ll bring it to the computer place.”

“Thanks, babe.” Paul smiles.

They decide to go out for dinner, as they could easily afford it. Stiles didn't want to use those traitorous groceries, anyways.


	2. In Which Stiles Embarrasses Papa Stilinski

### T-Minus Twenty One Days

“One thousand five hundred dollars.”

“What?” Stiles shouts, waving his arms involuntarily.

“Well, a physically damaged hard drive is the most difficult to recover data from. Labor alone is a lot, not to mention the equipment and software involved.”

“That’s how much I make in a _month_.”

“If it’s for a company, they’ll sometimes comp the cost,” the computer guy says helpfully. Stiles didn't want to dump this on Paul, too. He had paid for enough as it was – he wasn't going to make him use company funds for this.

Stiles hesitates before deciding. “No, it’s fine. I’ll just use my credit card.”

“Whatever you say, man.”

* * *

“My computer’s all set, babe?”

“Yup,” Stiles responds, dragging out the ‘p.’

“Really?” Paul asks, sounding surprised. “I checked our account and it didn't seem like anything was used.”

“I – uh – didn't use your account.” Stiles cringes as a shout comes through the phone.

“Stiles! I know how much this costs! What point is being the director of my own firm if I can’t use the resources we have? How much was it?”

“I didn't… it’s not – well, it doesn't matter. It was my gift to you.” So what if it had drained a very significant portion of his savings? He needs to contribute _something_.

“Babe,” Paul begins after a pause, “I know it seems like we aren't always on equal footing –”

“It’s not that, Paul,” Stiles interrupts, though it _is_ exactly that. “I know you can take care of us. But I do have a job, so it’s my decision when to use the money I make. You paid for the apartment. You paid for our vacations. You’re paying for the wedding. Hell, you even use your money to buy most of our goddamned groceries. Just because I don’t earn as much as you doesn't mean I’m not useful! Teaching fifth graders is a very noble profession.”

There’s another long pause, before Paul sighs and begins to speak again.

“Of course you’re useful. That just – doesn't always mean financially.” Stiles lets out an indignant squawk. “Stiles, I want to take care of you. Teaching just doesn't give the kind of lifestyle we want; San Francisco’s an expensive city. You know we’re equal in _other_ ways.” Stiles can practically see him grinning from the innuendo, but he doesn't rise to the bait.

“We have to take care of each other,” Stiles starts quietly. “That’s what it means to be married.”

It wasn't Stiles’ first choice to move to San Francisco permanently. Hell, he planned to finish school and get back home. Then he had met Paul, a very successful gay rights lobbyist, and it has just snowballed from there. In no time, it seemed, he had gotten his teaching certification and was moving into their large apartment with a ring on his hand. Sure, there had been arguments and some breaks, but they always had amazing make-up sex. His friends had always seemed happy for him, if a bit reluctant. Maybe he had moved too fast?

No. He was exactly twenty one days from his own wedding. This wasn't the time for second guessing. At least, it hadn't been, not until Paul finally responded.

“I guess this is a bad time to mention that I need to head to D.C. for a little bit?”

* * *

“Two weeks, dad. Two freakin’ weeks!”

“I’m sorry, kiddo.”

“It’s not your fault. I knew this year would be busy with the election and all, but he won’t be back until a week before our wedding. Who the hell does that?” Stiles is ready to punch something.

Sheriff Stilinski makes an agreeable noise. “Maybe you can come to Beacon Hills a bit early? You can use the time to check up on how the arrangements are going.”

“You know what? That sounds perfect. On Friday the kids have a half day before summer vacation starts, so I can take care of my classroom and then drive up that night?”

“Sure, sure. I’ll get your bedroom ready.”

“Thanks pops.” Stiles smiles.

Having the wedding in Beacon Hills was the one thing Stiles was not willing to compromise on. Paul didn't really have any family, but he had wanted the wedding to be in the city where all of his friends were. Stiles had put his foot down, so Paul agreed but hired some big-shot wedding planner to put everything together. Well, Stiles could out-plan the best of them. Using his free time to check up on the venue – and his dad’s diet – seemed like a perfect way to spend the two weeks his fiancé would be gone. Asshole.

“Are you up to anything else today?”

“Nah, I just have to stop into the school for a couple of hours. Why they scheduled a teacher’s conference day this close to the end of the year I’ll never know.”

“Sounds like a hard life.”

“I can hear that sarcasm, mister! I’ll have you know that I work very hard.” When Paul lets him, at least.

“Sure, kid. Listen, I have to go – we’re getting a non-emergency call from old Miss Johnson again.”

“You know, dad, you could always just tell her you’re not interested.”

“Stiles! She’s twice my age!” John says, mortified.

Stiles laughs and laughs until his dad hangs up without a goodbye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short one. I promise future chapters are longer (like, an order of magnitude longer)! I'm also not quite sure about a posting schedule yet, so they may come at quite random times for now. Again, this story is not beta read (any volunteers?), so plot holes and bad tenses are all my fault.
> 
> Exposition. Exposition everywhere. 
> 
> Apparently money is a motif. There will be quiz on this important fact later.


	3. In Which Papa Stilinski Burns Food

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! To make it up to you, I'm releasing four chapters this week. This is the last of the super short chapters, from now on they average at least a few thousand words or more.

### T-Minus Twenty Days

“Do you have everything? Enough underwear? Your toothbrush and toothpaste?” Stiles asks as he rummages through Paul’s bags.

“Yes, Stiles.”

“What about short sleeved shirts? This,” he starts, holding up one of Paul’s button-down shirts, “is not cool enough for late June out there.”

“Yes, Stiles, I have plenty of cooler clothes,” Paul responds, rolling his eyes. "But I also need to dress for business."

“Okay, well how about –” He’s interrupted by a hand on his shoulder.

“Stiles. Everything’s fine.”

“Yeah, okay. I just…” Stiles makes a frustrated noise, “really don’t want you to have to leave.”

“I know, babe. But it’s only for a little while. When I’m back you and I will be hitched in no time,” Paul reassures with a grin. “Now, as much as I’d like to stay and mess up our bed all over again, I’ll be late for my flight if I don’t leave now.”

“Yeah, you should leave now,” Stiles replies, nodding but not moving.

“Yes, I should.” Paul smiles one last time, leaning in for a kiss before gathering his bags.

Stiles moves to the window to watch as Paul puts his bags in the trunk of the taxi. He watches as they drive away. He watches the end of the street, waiting to see if it was a joke and his fiancé wasn't _really_ leaving right before their wedding. He watches until his phone rings.

“Hey, kid.” Says his dad as Stiles answers his cell.

“What’s up, daddy-o?”

“Your room’s all set for tomorrow. I know of quite a few people who will be happy you’re back in town.”

* * *

### T-Minus Nineteen Days

“Mr. Stiles?”

“Yeah, Greg? Is something wrong?”

Stiles was standing outside of Ridgeview Elementary, watching as the buses pulled away to bring the kids home for summer break.

“No, Mr. Stiles, I just wanted to give you this,” the boy says, shyly looking down at the object in his hand as he holds it out.

“Oh! It’s beautiful, Greg.” Stiles responds honestly, taking the carved wooden wolf from his student’s hand. “Is it for me?”

“Yeah!” Greg says excitedly, after seeing Mr. Stiles’ response. “You’re my most favorite teacher. Mommy said I should give you something for a gift, and we went to a zoo and I saw this in the gift shop.”

“That’s really cool! What else did you see?”

“It was so fun! They let us pet the wolves! They said the mommy wolf was pregnant, but she didn't look very fat.”

Stiles smiles and nods as the kid continues telling his story of the epic visit to the zoo, content to listen to his enthusiasm.

“Gregory!” A woman’s voice comes out of nowhere, interrupting the part of the story about the awesome giraffe. The lady in question jogged up to where Greg and Stiles were standing. “Oh, there you are. I hope he hasn’t been boring you,” she says to Stiles.

“Hello, Mrs. Jones. Not at all, he was just telling me about your visit to the zoo.”

“Yeah! I was telling him all about the giraffe. Remember?” Greg interjects.

“Of course, hun’. I think it’s time to let Mr. Stilinski go, though. After all,” she says, turning towards him, “his summer vacation starts today too!”

After exchanging goodbyes with her son’s “really amazing – he’s the _best_ ” teacher, she turns to go. Greg continues recapping the trip to the zoo as his mom leads him away, seemingly not noticing that he was talking to a different person now. She may have been there, but it was just _so_ cool.

Before Stiles leaves, he carefully places the wooden wolf in his bag.

* * *

Stiles departs for good old Beacon Hills not long after he gets to the apartment. His room at the school was all squared away, with most of his supplies coming home throughout the previous week. He had said his goodbyes to his work colleagues, and was ready to go back home.

The jeep is just as he had left it. Paul didn't have a car, as he had never needed one living in San Francisco. Stiles refused to let his jeep go, though. It was a travesty that he so rarely left the city – he just knew his baby got lonely sitting in the garage.

* * *

“I’m about fifteen minutes out, pops, do you want me to pick up food for dinner?” Stiles was making the several hour trip in record time, with minimal traffic laws broken.

“No, that’s alright,” Came the response. Stiles narrows his eyes in suspicion.

“Why? You didn't eat already, did you?”

“No, Stiles.”

“Are we going out, then?” A sigh comes over the line.

“No. I’m…” there’s a _very_ suspicious pause. “-Cooking.”

“Dad.”

“It’s fine, alright? I’m just following the directions that Melissa left.”

* * *

“It’s not fine. It’s not fine at all,” Stiles says in horror, as he and his dad watch two firemen enter the house.

“I swear to God, all I did was put it in the oven for a few minutes.”

“Dad, you know you can’t cook. You managed to light my cereal on fire when I was a kid!” They stare at each other for a moment, before collapsing in guffaws at the absurdity of the situation. Eventually, the all clear is given and the fire engine pulls away.

“It’s good to have you home, kid.” John ruffles his son’s hair fondly, as they reenter the house. The smell of burnt food hits them immediately, making them stop.

Stiles scrambles away from the offending odor, quickly coming up with a new plan. “Eat at the diner while we air this place out?”

“Hell yes,” his father affirms as they retreat from their home.

* * *

As Stiles and John enter the Star Diner, the familiar toll of a bell announces their presence.

“Hello there, sheriff!” The hostess greets, smiling widely at John before turning her attention to Stiles. “And who is this little runt?”

“Miss Mae.” Stiles nods politely, wearily keeping his distance from the voracious old lady.

“Stiles Stilinski. Why, I never thought we’d be seeing you in our little town again. You know you can call me Maggie, dear.” She scolds before turning back to the Sheriff. “You want the regular table, John?”

Stiles turns to his father in surprise. “You have a regular table here?” He asks, enunciation each word slowly as if they were a curse. Maggie Mae looks guiltily at John.

“Sorry, Sheriff.”

“It’s fine, Maggie. Stiles, they do have salad here you know.”

“Right. Salad. Nothing to do with their burgers, or the homemade pie, right?” He stares his father down, intent on shaming him. “You’re supposed to be eating healthily! You know what the doctor said. And you!” He points an angry finger at Maggie. “We were supposed to be in this together!”

“I know, Stiles, I know. I even made him eat greens with every meal, for a while. But those damned eyes, kid…” She sighs dreamily, looking star struck.

“Oh my God! No!” Stiles covers his ears, turning away. “Let’s just sit. I think I’m mentally scarred.”

“That’s karma, Stiles.” John retorts. “Maybe we should pay a visit to Miss Johnson, too?”

Those mental images will haunt him for _life_ , Stiles thinks miserably. At least the pie is as good as he remembers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you don't mind the quick breaks, that's kind of been my M/O for this story (along with absurdity, for some reason). Feel free to comment with any feedback! No beta, so any continuity or grammatical errors are my own.


	4. In Which Stiles Meets Derek (and injures him too)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the super long delay! I've basically been working from the end backwards, which is not good for productivity. The chapters are still in the process of getting longer, so I apologize for that too :( It seems like so many words as I'm typing, then it's just soo short once it's done.
> 
> Please remember to comment if you can! Completely unbeta'd, so plot device errors and grammar mistakes are my own.

### T-Minus Eighteen Days

Stiles knew this was a bad idea. Sitting in his jeep, sweating from the hot stale air, he stares at the house before him. Should he go in? Would he be welcome? Probably not, he decides, and resolves to leave. As soon as he puts the key back in his ignition, however, a quick siren and flash of blue make him freeze.

“Shit.”

He waits, with his hands on the steering wheel and a pounding in his chest. That is not his dad’s cruiser, and he had been gone long enough not to know most of the deputies. The man who eventually steps out of the cruiser is tall and broad, walking confidently as he approaches Stiles’ rolled down window. Stiles stares straight ahead.

“Can I see some identification, please?” The deep voice asks. Stiles nods, still avoiding turning to look at the officer. He reaches for his wallet slowly, and hands over his license. Stiles can practically feel a heavy stare on him, before the deputy finally looks down at the identification in his hand. “Stilinski? As in, Sherriff Stilinski?”

There’s a tone of accusation that makes Stiles finally turn to look. “Hey, I wasn't doing anything – oh, shit.” He cuts himself off, uncharacteristically unable to continue talking.

The man’s eyebrows – bushy, bushy eyebrows – rise incredulously. “You were saying?”

“You’re very… very…” Stiles hopelessly gestures at his face. _Attractive_ is the word he can’t say. The eyebrows then move lower, into a wide V, as his forehead creases. Stiles manages to stop before he makes a complete fool of himself. “Never mind, just pretend I didn't say anything.” Stiles adds a silent plea in his head, then continues. “Yeah, I’m the Sheriff’s son. Just call me Stiles, that name is impossible to pronounce. Can I ask what this is about?”

If the deputy sees Stiles’ blush, he doesn't comment on it. “We got a call about a suspicious vehicle.” His eyes narrow to slits, as the hint of accusation returns. “An hour ago.”

“What?” Stiles asks, falling back on his trusty sarcasm, “It’s illegal to sit in your car now?” _And make major life decisions? _He adds in his head.__

“It’s illegal to loiter, and you’re making the neighbors nervous. Why are you here?”

Stiles’ first instinct is to tell him to back off, but he knows it’ll be easier if he just tells the truth. “An old friend lives there,” Stiles nods at the direction of the house he had been staring at for the past who-knows-how-long.

The deputy motions for him to continue.

“We had a falling out, and I just wanted to talk – to see if he would be willing to be my best man. We haven’t had a real conversation in years.”

Officer Studly looks upwards for a moment, as if just remembering something. “You’re the one getting married,” he states rather than asks.

Stiles mumbles a quick affirmative.

“And you want Scott McCall to be your best man?”

Stiles brightens at the name, then it’s his turn to be confused. “You know Scott?”

“Unfortunately,” the man mumbles. Stiles leans forward, waiting for an explanation, so the deputy reluctantly explains. “We have dogs.”

“Oh, he’s your vet! That’s cool. You don’t sound too happy about that, though.”

“Just some bad experiences,” he replies gruffly. “Children’s toys and dogs tend not to go together very well.”

Stiles nods sympathetically, before leaning forward to read the officer’s name tag. “Well, deputy… does that say Hale?” Before waiting for a response, Stiles plows on, “I was just about to leave before you showed up, so would it be okay if we didn’t mention this extremely embarrassing encounter to anyone? Mainly my father?”

“You’re leaving before you've talked to Scott?” Stiles shrugs.

“We really didn't leave off on great terms. I've had enough mortification for one day”

“McCall, he’s… he’s a good man.” Hale says as if it’s painful to admit. Then more quietly, “You should at least talk.”

Stiles stares at his – extremely green and very pretty – eyes, before sighing and agreeing. “About telling my dad?” He hedges.

Hale just rolls his eyes, much like his father often does to him. “Who do you think told me to come here after hearing the car’s description?”

Stiles’ father was _evil_.

* * *

After Deputy Hale leaves, Stiles continues to debate whether or not to go talk to Scott. To delay, he calls his dad.

“Sheriff Stilinski.” Comes the greeting.

“Why? Why did you do it?” Stiles moans.

“Stiles,” Stiles father sighs, as if talking to his son is a chore. “What can I do for you?”

“You sent Deputy McHotty-Pants after me.” Stiles accuses.

“Oh, that.” Now he sounds positively _gleeful_. “Maybe.”

“Dad! I am engaged! That is completely inappropriate behavior.” The Sheriff just laughs.

“There’s no harm in looking, son.” 

Stiles resists the urge to pinch his nose, before asking, “Was it some kind of test? To see if I loved Paul?”

“What? Stiles, God no –” The Sheriff’s tone is now mildly horrified.

“Because I do. I know you don’t necessarily approve, but we’re getting married. I want you to be happy for me.” There’s a long pause, broken occasionally by Stiles’ indignant huffs.

“Son. If you’re happy, then I’m happy. I just want to make sure you think you’re doing the right thing. I know he can offer you a lot – money, stability – but is that really what you want? Do you really love him, and not just what he stands for?”

“How can you ask that? Of course I love him. I’m not some gold-digger, dad.”

“I know that, Stiles. It just seems like you’re going after the idea of marriage rather than the man. Some of what’s happened since you've met him hasn't been healthy. Your relationships with your friends –”

“Friends from high school. People move on!”

“– Have just been getting worse and worse.” The sheriff keeps talking, as if Stiles hadn't interrupted him. “Hell, even before you were engaged you hadn't been back home in a _year_.”

Stiles tries not to feel guilty at the hint of emotion his father is trying so hard to hide.

* * *

“Hold on!” Calls a familiar voice from inside the house. A few moments later, the front door opens to reveal a middle-aged woman with long, wavy brunette hair. There are a few more wrinkles, and maybe some gray hairs mixed with the brown, but it’s undoubtedly still the same woman Stiles knows – or, should he say _knew_ – so well.

“Mrs. McCall.” Stiles nods in greeting, unsure how to proceed.

For a moment, she just stares, and then breaks into a wide smile. “Stiles.” Then she’s moving forward in a blur.

Stiles lets out an umph as he’s enveloped in a bone-crushing hug. After a moment of holding each other, lost in the embrace’s familiarity, Melissa McCall steps back with her hands on Stiles’ shoulders. She opens her mouth to speak, but is interrupted by another voice shouting from the direction of the kitchen.

“Who is it?” When no one responds, a body soon follows the voice. “Mom, I thought I heard - Stiles?”

They both stand and look, weary of each other’s reactions.

“Scotty –” is all Stiles can get out before his oldest friend rushes forward and picks him up off the ground.

“Stiles! Stiles! You’re back!” Scott shouts happily, as he spins them around, nearly knocking down a vase in the process. When his enthusiasm isn't immediately returned, Scott’s grin falters, and he places Stiles back on the ground and takes a step back. “Why are you back?”

“Yes Stiles,” Scott’s mom says, joy quickly turning to mild suspicion. “Shouldn't you be in San Francisco?”

“Well, you guys know that I –” Stiles scrunches up his face in concentration, then decides on a different approach. “I’m really sorry about how we left things, Scott.” Scott nods but says nothing, so Stiles continues. “I let my romantic relationship override my friendship, and that’s not healthy. I came first and foremost to apologize.”

Both of the McCall’s then break out into renewed smiles, as if relieved.

“Well, why don’t we take this to the kitchen. No sense in just standing at the door,” Melissa says, shooing them further into the house.

“Mom,” Scott whines, “this is my house, you know. I can be a good host.”

“Apparently not,” Melissa responds, rolling her eyes and cuffs his shoulder as she leads the boys into the small kitchen at the back of Scott’s home.

Stiles feels wetness gathering in his eyes at their familiarity.

“So, uh –” he starts, unsure how to ask. “Where’s the wife?”

“Allison?” Scott asks, brightening immediately like a puppy. “She’s over at her parent’s, though she should have been back by now…” Scott trails off, face darkening for a moment before perking back up. “The kids are in bed. Man, you should see Benjy! He’s so big! It’s like – I turn around for one minute, and he’s gained another inch.”

“What grade is he in now?” Stiles asks, then cringes at his impulsive, inquisitive nature. The question was just another reminder of their distance.

“Fourth grade. Stiles, he’s so smart!” Scott answers, and his eyes are glowing with pride. “Little Lauren isn't doing bad herself. It’s nearly time to start potty training her!” Stiles nods, amused at his friend’s enthusiasm. Even before they had stopped talking, updates were few and far between, but Stiles knew Scott would take to fatherhood well – he was basically an overgrown dog, after all.

“How about you, kid?” Mrs. McCall asks. “The wedding planning coming along well?”

Stiles shifts before answering. “Well, that’s part of the reason I came over.”

“Did you and Saul finally break up?” Scott asks excitedly before Stiles can continue.

“What? No, dude!” Stiles shakes his head emphatically, then narrows his eyes. “You know that’s not his name, Scott.”

“Oh.” Scott shrugs, frown firmly back in place.

“I was actually wondering if, uh, you’d be my best man.”

Scott looks between his mom and Stiles a few times, before smiling slightly too quickly and nodding. “Of course, Stiles!” Stiles then finds himself wrapped in yet another McCall Hug™.

Stiles is left wondering why that last smile had seemed so forced.

* * *

As Stiles is driving back home – to _his dad’s_ house – there’s another flash of blue behind him and the screech of a short, familiar siren.

“Why!” Stiles shouts in frustration, pounding the wheel. “I wasn't even speeding!”

After pulling over to the side of the road and turning the interior lights on like his dad had taught him, Stile’s sees a familiar, muscular shape approaching the driver’s side door. He rolls down his window for the second time today.

“Deputy Hale,” Stiles nods in greeting, trying to keep his irritation from showing.

“Stiles.” The deputy responds in kind, a smirk gracing his face.

There’s a brief moment of awkward silence, as Stiles finds himself staring at the deputy’s very, very green eyes again, before shaking his head and asking if he had been doing anything wrong.

“Nope,” the deputy says, shaking his head. Still smirking.

“Well, if you’ll excuse me then, I’d like to get home sometime tonight.” Stiles snarks, reaching for the window controls.

“Wait,” Hale says, face softening as he reaches towards Stiles. Unfortunately for the deputy, the window was already nearly closed. “Shit!” He shouts, as Stiles accidentally closes the window on the deputy’s fingers.

Stiles fumbles to reverse the window’s direction. “I am so, so sorry! I really didn't mean to assault you with a – uh – window.”

Deputy Hale glares. Stiles shrugs. 

“I am actually sorry. But, dude, it’s not like the window was moving that quickly…” Stiles is trying to hold in his laugh. This big guy was just injured by his car’s _window_.

The deputy keeps glaring – typical – but puts one of his injured fingers in his mouth, as if to stop the pain. It looks absolutely hilarious, so of course Stiles starts guffawing.

The officer turns around, ready to stomp back to his patrol car.

“Wait! Wait!” Hale stops, and slowly turns back around. “I’m sorry, okay? It’s been a weird day, and it doesn't help that you've accosted me twice when I haven’t been doing anything wrong.”

Hale rolls his eyes again, fingers forgotten. “I just wanted to ask how your conversation went with Scott.”

“Next time just stop by the sheriff’s house like a normal human, Hale. No need to abuse police authority.”

“Derek.” Is the response.

“What?” Stiles asks, confused.

“My name is Derek. Not dude, and not Hale.”

“Alright, Derek.” Stiles smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I make no apologies for convenient plot devices. Although, Stiles may or may not be a little bit too emotional... oh well!
> 
> Stiles has no best man because all of his friends in San Fran are really Paul's friends. Poor Stiles! :(
> 
> There are so many extras I want to add that just don't make sense to put in here! I might make a tumblr. Maybe. Possibly. We'll see. Probably not.


	5. In Which Stiles Sees an Old Friend

### T-Minus Seventeen Days

Stiles is rudely awoken the next morning by the sound of his phone going off. It takes him a moment to understand that, yes, this is his childhood bedroom but, no, it was not time to get ready for high school. It’s not an alarm coming from his phone, but a call. Stiles curses and reaches for his phone so it doesn't go to voicemail.

“’Lo?” Stiles asks, voice groggy from sleep.

“Good morning, babe. I forgot it was so early there – do you want me to call back later?”

“Paul! No, it’s fine. I should probably be getting up now anyways.”

“Yeah you should, you’re meeting with the wedding planner later this morning.”

“You knew how early it was, didn't you?” Stiles accuses, taking a moment to glare at the phone for good measure.

“Well since you’re awake you might as well get ready now anyways, right?”

“I guess. You’re work ethic is going to kill me,” Stiles grumbles.

“Hopefully that day is far in the future, huh?” Before Stiles can form a coherent response, Paul continues on distractedly, “Is it alright if I call you later? I just got out of a meeting with some major donors, but it looks like I’m not off the hook yet.”

“Yeah, yeah, go ahead. Entice them with your charm.”

The dial tone rings before Stiles hears any further goodbye. The idiot _hung up_ on him!

* * *

Because the wedding planner wasn't from the area and Stiles didn't feel comfortable inviting the woman to his home – she was an absolutely witch, replace the ‘w’ with a ‘b’ – they had agreed to meet in the city park in Beacon Hill’s small downtown. From there, they would do a whirlwind tour of the wedding and reception venue, as well as the catering kitchen and florist’s and bakery. The lady, Margaret – Stile’s had nicknamed her ‘The Dragon’ in his head – was obsessive compulsive about checking up on every detail of the wedding, so not being in Beacon Hills for much of the wedding planning process must have been absolutely horrid for her. Stiles was not ashamed to admit he took some joy in that fact.

So Stiles found himself sitting on a bench ten minutes before they were to meet up, coffee cup in hand when a familiar feminine voice calls out.

“Stiles?” It asks, surprised. Stiles’ head jerks up, zeroing in on the woman who had called him. She’s wearing a bright yellow sun dress, hair up in a professional bun and clipboard in hand.

“Lydia?” Stiles asks, similarly disbelieving. “Lydia Martin? What in the hell are you doing here?”

Stiles jumps up, rushing towards her, hugging her before stepping back with his hands still on her shoulders.

“How have you been? I haven’t seen you since high school!” Lydia rolls her eyes in a very Lydia-esque manner, before deigning to respond.

“May I remind you that we could have kept in touch, had you chosen to do so?” Stiles flinches before Lydia presses on, waving away his behavior with a flick of her wrist, dismissing it like it was nothing. “I’m meeting a client for my boss. A Mr. Chancy?”  
“Wait, you’re a wedding planner?” Stiles asks incredulously. 

“Don’t tell me you’re Mr. Chancy? The name change is supposed to come after the wedding, Stiles,” Lydia answers. There’s a hint of accusation in her voice.

“No, that’s – that’s my fiancé's last name. Where’s the dragon lady? And why the hell haven’t we been dealing with you instead? This could have gone _so_ much better!”

“Margaret,” Lydia starts, stressing the name, “Couldn't make it today. You’re fiancé is apparently a big deal, so she’s been dealing with you guys herself. If I had known you were the other party…” Lydia trails off, looking over Stile’s shoulder.

“What?” Stiles asks, noticing her drifting attention and glancing behind him. Seeing nothing, Stiles turns back around to look at his long lost friend. Lydia seems to shake herself out of it quickly, however, and just shrugs. Stiles is concerned but chooses not to press it.

“I’m glad I can see you again Stiles,” Lydia says softly, before quickly reverting to her familiar business attitude. “And we have a lot to do today. I’ll be driving – Margaret may not know the area, but I obviously do so I’ll get us there quickly. Keep in mind that this is just checking up on the preparations, almost nothing can be changed now since we’re so close to the date without great expense.”

Stiles nods, still used to Lydia’s commanding behavior. It’s comforting to know something hasn't changed.

* * *

They sit in virtual silence while Lydia drives them to their first location, the caterer’s. They prepared a lavish sample of every item on the reception menu for Stiles to try in person, so they could make any last-minute adjustments if need be. The place hadn't been there when Stile’s had left, so he didn't know what to expect in terms of quality, but of course Margaret and Paul would only accept the best, so everything is perfectly made.

On their way to the bakery, a family-run affair that Stile’s had fond memories of in his childhood, Stiles builds up his courage to ask the question he’d been burning to ask since learning Lydia worked for his wedding planner.

“Why do you work for Margaret?” Stiles blurts out, unsure of how he’d be received. Lydia just glances over and rolls her eyes before looking back towards the road. “I mean, it’s totally awesome that you’re a wedding planner, but you could run your own business easily.”

Lydia nods, not disagreeing. “Margaret is old-school. She has connections and a thriving customer base.” Stiles makes an agreeable noise. “Of course, she’s also getting old,” Lydia continues meaningfully. She could be _terrifying_. They chit chat until they arrive at the bakery preparing the wedding cake, and once they do Lydia begins her spiel.

“As I’m sure you remember, Hale & Co. has been a Beacon Hill’s staple for quite some time. Your – ahem – fiancé was very insistent that we incorporate some classic town staples into the wedding. Margaret had asked me what that would be since it’s my hometown, and I suggested this place. If I had known it was you I was suggesting it for, well…” She hums, “I still would have told her about it.”

Stiles nods. He can still remember coming in for a scone or cupcake with his mom after dropping by the police department to visit his father, then just a deputy. They were memories in vivid color and bright with sunshine, ones that could only be created by the naivety of summer in childhood.

“Wait, it’s called _Hale & Co?_” Stiles blinks in surprise. “As in Deputy McHot- er, I mean Deputy Hale? Derek?”

“Derek?” Lydia asks, as if questioning why Stiles would be on a first name basis with him. “Yes. Their family owns half this town, Stiles. Even your ceremony and reception are on Hale land.”  
“The Manor belongs to _them_?” Stiles gasps. “They’re that family? Like, the town founders?”

“Stiles, we took five field trips to the Manor during grade school. You know all this.”

“Then how did I not know Derek? Or even recognize his last name?”

“Why are you so interested in him, Stiles? You've only been back for a little while, right? How do you even know him?” Lydia’s tone became more and more accusing with each question, until Stile’s was practically crowded against the passenger door to escape her intense gaze.

“It’s nothing, Lydia.” Stiles says loudly, and then mumbles, “I was just curious.”

Lydia smiles as if she had won a big victory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The day is split? Gasp! Does Lydia know more than she lets on? Why is Derek's family rich, just like Paul (I thought that was one of the problems?!)? How many times could Stiles possibly run into the Hale family in one day? How many more old friends could Stiles possibly be reunited with? Stay tuned to find out!
> 
> I have a lot more written, but I'm releasing it in small chunks. Why? To be cruel, obviously.
> 
> I'm sorry it's taken two months to get out one thousand words! I am still working on this story. Feedback is welcome, of course.


End file.
